Unhappy Birthday to You

Last Saturday, I turned 24. It didn't feel much like a birthday, in part because for the first time I wasn't around any of my family members, and partially because what was supposed to be a lovely day out was ruined by the ignorance of others about invisible/hidden disabilities.

As I mentioned in my last post, I have Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. It manifests itself in various ways throughout my body, but currently, my most severe symptoms have to do with my joints. Just about all of my moveable joints sublux and/or dislocate on a regular basis; I sublux almost constantly during the day, and I usually experience dislocations a few times a week. None of my joints are in great condition, but my ankles are significantly worse than my other joints. I wear braces on them daily, which I usually cover with pants.

The main reason I choose to cover my braces is to avoid drawing attention to myself. I'm the type of person who likes to try and fly under the radar; I HATE it when I get attention called to me. It makes me really uncomfortable. Most of that stems from growing up undiagnosed. As a child and a teenager, I was constantly injured. My injuries never healed in the normal amount of time, and that caused people to notice me - negatively. Doctors, teachers, classmates, and even friends and family members constantly questioned me. Doctors wrote me off as a hypochondriac when I insisted I still had a ton of pain and that physical therapy wasn't doing anything for me. Teachers gave me a hard time about affording me the accomodations I'd been approved for, giving me a hard time about things like getting me photocopies of the notes because I couldn't write. I found out later they discussed me openly in the staff room, insisting I was just, "Being a pain in the ass." Classmates made no secret about their disbelief - even though I wasn't allowed to carry things, almost no one was willing to volunteer to carry my bag to my next class. A couple people went as far, in the early days of AIM, as making a fake username and harassing me, telling me I wanted attention, that I was a faker and a liar, that no one would ever love me, that no one liked me, that I was good for nothing. My friends had a hard time believing me, as did my family. They never knew me to be a liar, but the sort of things happening to me were things they believed didn't happen to people - or only happened to people with a known genetic condition.

In some ways, other people treating me the way they did was more disabling than any of my injuries. I learned to hide myself away, hide the pain, hide the suffering. It was very unhealthy, but that's how I coped.

For my birthday, my boyfriend wanted to do something he thought would make me really happy, and he searched for months to find us tickets for a Broadway show I wanted to see. I was so excited, and on the day of my birthday, we headed into NYC set on having a lovely day. We got up to the theater, got our seats (second row!), and everything was going wonderfully... until I was harassed three different times, by three different ushers, because my disability is hidden. I was on line for the handicapped restroom, since the other bathrooms are up or down several stairs, and with my ankles, I can't do stairs. I got stared at. I got glared at. I got told this restroom was not for my use. I was told the bathrooms for my use were upstairs or downstairs. I was treated with disbelief. I was targeted, because I look young and vital, and I choose to cover my braces so that people don't stare at me everywhere I go.

After the third usher approached me, she tried to explain that the policy of questioning people on line like me was to preserve my use of the restroom, that the policy was in place for my own good. I responded, through tears, that when a policy unfairly targets and harasses the people it's trying to protect, it's obviously not working, and it harms people that are already dealing with enough. No one has the right to judge me - or anyone - based on my outward appearance.

Many, many disabilities are hidden or invisible. People who are disabled don't like being stared at, and those of us who can mask our disabilities often choose to, because we'd rather be seen as people before we're seen as disabled people. This is something that people need to realize. People with hidden or invisible disabilities are already suffering enough, the last thing we need is someone harassing us "for our own good." What we need is people that are compassionate and understanding, who are educated enough to know that just because a person isn't in a wheelchair doesn't mean they're not disabled. Disabilities, like people, come in all shapes and sizes, and appearances can be deceiving.

My experiences - and ruined birthday - could have easily been prevented, had the staff members not been so quick to judge, so uneducated about disabilities, and so arrogant. I told as much to the house manager, who encouraged me to write to the organization that owns the theater, offered me free tickets to come back, and said she'd speak to the staff. It was a nice offer, to be sure, but in order to take it, because I am disabled, there are so many complications:

1. I'd have to take a train into the city again. Trains cost money, to the tune of $50 for two round-trip tickets. Aside from the fact I'm a law student with no money, trains are difficult for me to travel on because of my joints. The jostling causes they to sublux and/or dislocate the whole ride there, and the whole ride back.
2. I'd have to come up with the money to take cabs up and back to the theater again. Like I said, I'm a broke law student. Subways and walking, which are great options for most people, aren't an option for me.
3. I'd have to find the time to actually GO to another show. I'm in class Monday through Thursday, from the morning through the evening every day but Thursday. If there are even shows on Thursdays, I'd have to try to take a train in during rush hour, which usually means there's zero seating left by the time I'd board. I can't stand for an hour train ride, because of my disability. On Friday, I work the entire day. On Saturdays, I usually have some time, provided I'm not cleaning, doing laundry, or running errands, i.e. doing all the things I don't have time for during the week. On Sundays, I spend the entire day doing homework to get ready for my next marathon week.

You would think, at a show that prominently features a disabled character with a not-so-obvious physical disability, that the staff would be more sensitive to the fact that people have hidden and invisible disabilities. The irony was not lost on me.

It's Official: I'm a Zebra

Some of you may have noticed that I haven't been posting too much lately. Part of that is due to law school, which can swallow my life whole for periods of time, but part of it is also because I'd been busy preparing for my appointment with a geneticist. I had scheduled it nearly six months ago after searching for around three years for a doctor who was educated on the types of issues I was having, and yesterday, September 26th, 2012, was the big day.

At 7:30am yesterday morning, my boyfriend and I woke up, threw on clothes, grabbed my medical records, and boarded the train that would take us into New York City. We got off at Penn Station, grabbed a cab, and headed about forty blocks uptown to where I was seeing the doctor. We waited anxiously in the waiting room, I had some baseline measurements taken by a nurse, and then we were taken in to see the doctor. After almost two hours of extensively questioning about my medical history, my current health status, and my family and their health, plus a lengthy physical exam, the doctor told me what I'd suspected for at least a few years:

I have Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome.

 

It's weird for me to say. I have so many emotions about it right now, some which I think I was prepared for and some I wasn't. After years of suffering, I expected the news to come as a relief. I wanted to know; I wanted to finally be sure. I wanted an answer to the question I'd long been asking myself; I wanted to know what was wrong with me. And I got my answer.

 

In many ways, it is a relief. I'm an extremely honest person, but my symptoms, over the years, have led to people constantly questioning me, be they friends, family members, teachers, or others. Hardly anyone believed me when over and over again, I injured my joints, and over and over again, they failed to heal within any remotely normal time frame. I was cyber-bullied by classmates who thought I was faking it for attention, and I was given a hard time by teachers who didn't want to bother affording me the accommodations I needed. Doctors periodically wrote me off as overly emotional and dramatic, clearly just a hypochondriac.

 

I wasn't a hypochondriac. I didn't want attention. I wanted to heal. I wanted doctors to know what was wrong right away and be able to fix it. A lot of the time, I felt hopeless and extremely depressed. I wondered if everyone else was right, if I was just that crazy girl who thinks she's hurt all the time. I tried not to allow myself to get into that mind frame, and I constantly fought to find someone who would understand, to keep my head above the water until someone could figure out what the hell was going on with my body, why it was betraying me in the ways it had.

 

There's a saying, apparently commonly taught to medical students: "When you hear hoof beats, expect horses, not zebras." It's meant to serve as a reminder that there are common, simple causes for a lot of symptoms; that rarer diseases and conditions are rarer and generally shouldn't be given a lot of thought until all other "normal" causes are ruled out. In many ways, that's true, but at the same time, I wish more doctors would remember that "zebras" do exist. There have been so many signs that I was not the typical medical patient - that I had something distinctly abnormal going on - since before I was even born. Growing up, I had so many medical problems, but because they didn't result in death or extensive hospitalization, I was written off by most in the medical community. I've encountered a slew of doctors that have never even heard of Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome for every one that has believed me, and I have suffered immensely for it. If I could go back in time and educate my doctors about the condition, I probably could have avoided - or at least delayed - the exhaustion of my ankles. I could have limited my involvement in activities that were more likely to be detrimental to my health only because of the condition. There are so many could-have-beens that it's hard not to think about.

 

However, in the immortal words of J.K. Rowling, "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live." This is my life. It isn't perfect, but in so many ways, it is still beautiful and amazing and all my own. It is, at the moment, enough.

 

I will be writing more about my experiences with and symptoms of Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome in the future, but at the moment, I'm taking some time to process my diagnosis. Additionally, I will at some point be undergoing further testing in order to determine which type of EDS I have. The Hypermobility type is most likely, but it's possible I have Classical or Vascular, though Vascular is definitely less likely. This will not turn into an EDS-exclusive blog, if you're worried, though having EDS will undoubtedly influence many of my posts.



Still Processing

At the moment, I should really be doing my reading for Trusts and Estates, but as it's been a day full of a whirlwind of emotions for me, I wanted to take some time out to talk about what today is to me.

Twelve years ago, as I was sitting in my morning homeroom class, I had no idea that my life was about to change. It was, for all intents and purposes, a routine, sunny day that would be spent in class; the school year had started only recently, and I probably wasn't thinking about anything in particular. As the day drew on, it became clear that something was amiss - there was an announcement made over the loudspeaker that teachers were not to turn on classroom TVs under any circumstances, and the phones started ringing in all the classrooms, calling to let lots of students know that their parents had arrived to pick them up. I found out some time around lunch what had happened.

Today, twelve years after that day, I'm still trying to process what happened to me and the people around me because of what we bore witness to. Every year there are memorials held, moments of silence conducted, news articles written, and speeches made about remembering, about the importance of not forgetting what happened to us - as individuals, as people, as a nation. Frankly, this confuses me, because even though I was fortunate enough not to have been in Manhattan that day or to have lost anyone close to me as a result of the terrorist attack, I still lost a lot that day - and part of me would do anything to forget.

I think about the events of September 11, 2001 almost every day, sometimes multiple times daily. I feel uneasy every time I see the a digital clock that reading 9:11. I live near a small, private airport, as well as within 50 miles of two major airports, and I get the same feeling every time I see or hear a plane. I constantly wonder if it's flying too low, if there's a chance it could crash into a home or a business or a landmark or the cars near and around me on the highway. When I'm inside my house and hear the roaring of an airplane engine, I feel a pressing need to look out the window and make sure everything's okay - that I am still safe, that it isn't about to rip through my window. On the anniversary of the attacks, every year, I feel guilty. I feel like if I don't say anything about it, if I go about my daily business, if I allow it to be a normal day, I am somehow disrespecting the horrors suffered by others as a result of those events. I feel like I can't let myself be happy today, because somehow that would mean I'm forgetting, and forgetting isn't allowed.

For the first time since the events of September 11th, I'm in one of the boroughs of New York City on the anniversary of that day. I go to school here now, and I can't just miss class, but today has been... especially stressful. On the drive in, all I could think about was if it was really safe to be driving into the city. I worried about the risk of repeat attacks, and what I would do if the local county borders were closed, like some were on that day. I wondered about the advisability of studying on the floor of the library I prefer today - it's several floors up, and I wonder if that's safe; if I could get downstairs fast enough in the case of an emergency. I feel like there's almost a haze over reality today, like something crazy could happen, and I wouldn't be at all surprised. I am on edge.

I had several relatives in NYC when the attacks took place. Each and every time we've gathered as a family since then, they talk about their experiences. It's like they're stuck in an infinite loop of repetition - they can't stop talking about it, and they can't really talk about anything else. I've heard a hundred times about how transportation was shut down. I've heard a hundred times that the city was in a panic, because no one knew what was happening. I've heard a hundred times that my aunt, who was home after emergency eye surgery, though she was dreaming when she first saw the tower on the news, how she later found out that the building she worked in, WTC 7, was destroyed after being hit from the debris flying off of WTC 1 and 2. I've heard a hundred times about my aunt's partner arriving home late that evening, having walked over the Brooklyn Bridge covered in ash, having witnessed people jumping to their death from the towers, choosing not to spend their last seconds huddled in a death trap, knowing their fate had been sealed.

I would do anything to be able to forget 9/11. I don't want to remember the horrors, I don't want to remember the feelings of vulnerability, I don't want to remember the sick, twisted events that took away whatever remained of my childhood, I don't want to remember the stress I still feel every day, on a subconscious level, because of those events. I just don't. Is that so bad?

Summer Adventures

Happy Labor Day! The unofficial end of summer is bittersweet; I love the fall (I was an autumn baby) and all it brings, but this summer has been amazing, so I can't help but be a little sad to see it go.

For a while now, I have had the worst case of wanderlust. I want to go everywhere and see everything; I want to explore the world. However, because of some medical issues and finances (law school is expensive), I can't really go very far from home. I'm hoping that'll change in the future, but this summer, I needed a way to sate my lust. As it turns out, local adventuring was the way to go.

Bayard Cutting Arboretum in Great River

 

Long Island, where I live, is rich in history, culture, and surprisingly affordable things to do. The surrounding area is great too; it just tends to be a lot more expensive, especially in terms of travel costs. (Parking costs in NYC can be really high, and the last time I took the train into Manhattan about six months ago, it was $16 for a round-trip ticket. That doesn't include transportation once you get into the City, admission fees, or food costs, if you spend the day.) I decided to devote my summer to finding mostly free and cheap (and local) things for my boyfriend and I to do, and I think I did pretty well. This summer, we went all over.

"Butterfly Zoo"at the Main Street Nursery in Huntington

 

Our adventures started on Memorial Day with the Jones Beach Air Show. If you've never seen an air show before, it's basically a bunch of planes doing lots of different types of stunts - flying in formation, skywriting, flying upside-down, etc. It's the type of thing you don't normally see outside of military movies. This air show had both civilian and military people in the air, but unfortunately, no one from the U.S. military this year due to spending cuts.

 

Air Show at Jones Beach

 

Over the 4th of July weekend, besides going to the beach, we went to Belmont Lake State Park for paddle-boating. It was gorgeous out on the lake, and I had a lot of fun. Paddle-boating is particularly awesome for me because it's something I can do even with my crazy joints; the way the boat is structured, it offloads the pressure on my ankles. Thankfully, the boat's also really simple to guide through the water.
 

On the water at Belmont Lake State Park in Babylon


One of my favorite trips was out for lunch on the Nautical Mile in Freeport. We went to a really dive-y place known as Jeremy's Ale House, and when I say dive-y, I mean there were bras hanging from the ceiling and everything was served on paper or styrofoam. But the food was out of this world! Like, seriously, I'm still craving the Cajun breaded fried shrimp we got; it was hands down THE best shrimp I'd ever had. The Manhattan clam chowder was phenomenal, as was the fried calamari legs starter that we got - every piece was perfectly cooked. The food was extremely reasonably priced to boot, and we're definitely going back soon.

Fried shrimp OF MY DREAMS! from Jeremy's Ale House in Freeport

I also headed off the Island into the Bronx for the day a few weeks ago, to explore the Bronx Zoo. I've been going there since I was a little girl; my aunts used to take my sister and I out there for the day. We always got home exhausted from all of the walking, but since I can no longer walk those sorts of distances, I rented a wheelchair after we arrived. We spent a lot of time at the tiger exhibit and got to see a snow leopard the zoo is borrowing from zoo in Pakistan, plus (obviously) a whole bunch of other animals. My favorite animal at the zoo didn't seem to be feeling very social that day, unfortunately. He was hiding so that you couldn't really see his face, but... I still love red pandas.

C.V. Starr Tiger Valley at the Bronx Zoo

Other places we went this summer included Robert Moses State Park (where we were surprised by a deer running across the beach at sunset), Crab Meadow Beach (for a first birthday party), Bayard Cutting Arboretum (where we saw a huge snapping turtle and baby swans), Heckscher State Park, Clark Botanical Gardens, the Hicksville Gregory Museum (which had dinosaur eggs and lots of fossils), and the Gibson-Mack-Holt House (where I crazily found my father's original newborn picture - I had no idea they got the pictures from the hospital he was born in).

On Saturday, I rounded out my summer by hitting the Labor Day Sales at a local outlet center... which just happened to be holding a free summer concert series. We decided to stay for the last concert, which featured Owl City.

Owl City performing a free Labor Day Weekend concert in Deer Park

 

All in all, it's been a fantastic summer. What did you do/where did you go this summer? Did you get to travel, either just locally or far, far away?

2L Time

This past Monday, I started school as a second-year law student, a.k.a. a 2L. Since my last post, I've been busy taking care of all the things inherent in going back to school as a transfer student, i.e. buying textbooks, getting a student ID, getting frustrated with financial aid, navigating the virtual maze that is the federal student loan system, figuring out my new school's e-mail system and building layout, finding and completing my first assignments, and getting back into Law Student Mode (TM).

You know what's crazy? It's been nice.

When I first started law school, I hated it so much. I was constantly depressed, and I felt overwhelmed. Everything that I had loved about school growing up was absent in law school, replaced by a tremendous pressure to memorize large amounts of mundane facts and arguments for the sake of becoming familiar with caselaw, even though all that would matter come finals would be the holding of the case and the policy considerations behind it. It was hell. Though according to everyone who went to law school, that was to be expected. It followed the stereotype: first year they scare you to death, second year they work you to death, and third year you don't care, you're just trying to find a job. Some of the lowest moments of my life were during my first year, and I felt like I was under an astronomical amount of pressure. I worked myself half to death, and when I lost my scholarship over 0.04 GPA points - when I managed a 3.22 despite all the shit that happened my first year (illnesses, injuries, my mother's health scare, getting rear-ended really badly, etc.) - I didn't want to get out of bed for days. I've been low before - it's par for the course with depression - but my whole life felt like a lie. I'd always believed that if you worked hard enough, things would work out okay, and to me, nothing felt okay. The year off I took wasn't much better. I couldn't find a job, thanks in part to the economy, my disability (no walking/standing/lifting regularly means no retail/food service), and my time commitment (no one in my undergraduate degree field wanted someone who didn't intend to work at the company long-term). I was poor, I was stressed, I was bored, and it just wasn't good.

Being back in school and working towards something again has made me feel so much better. My new school has a very different atmosphere than that of my former law school; it's much more positive and upbeat. My first year, it felt like everyone was against us, trying to trip us up, testing us, and making us question whether or not we could do it, but thus far, my professors and all the people I've encountered only seem encouraging. Part of that probably has to do with being a 2L (professors know you've survived your first year and come back for more), but I think part of it also though is definitely the school itself, and that has given me an overwhelming sense of peacefulness. I feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. I felt like that my senior year of college and throughout the summer afterward, but I was plagued by doubt as soon as I started law school. For the past year I've constantly questioned myself and my decisions, and it's a relief to start feeling more like I've made the right decisions.

I'm planning on posting about my summer adventures later on this weekend or early next week (I did a lot of cool things locally this summer, and I took a ton of pictures), but until then...

Have you ever been in a situation where for a time, nothing felt right, but it led you to something that  did?

Is it TDaP or DTaP?

Last Thursday, August 1st, I had an appointment with my doctor to get a school physical done. I normally don't get a physical every year (I see enough doctors during the year and have enough testing done that there rarely seems to be any point), but since I'm transferring, my new school obviously wants one done. No big deal.

It was only after I was in with the P.A. that I found out I needed a vaccine booster. I have no issues with needles, so I stuck out my arm and in went my booster TDaP/DTaP shot. Once again, no big deal.

Until, you know, about a minute later, when most of my arm went numb and the place where the needle went in started to itch. Neither the P.A. or the nurse seemed worried, so they finished filling out my paperwork and sent me on my way, telling me the arm would probably be sore tomorrow and not to worry about it. Of course, the next morning, I woke up with a hard lump on my arm right where I'd gotten the booster shot. Like any good millennial, I turned to Google. Google informed me that this was relatively normal; some people got a hard lump after getting the shot, and it was likely a minor reaction to one of the vaccine components that would go away in a few days.

Over the course of the next few days, the lump grew to the size of a golf ball. It was itchy and warm to the touch. Pain radiated up to my shoulder and down to my elbow. First, the lump wasn't discolored. Then it was red. Then it looked like I had a massive purple bruise. That's when I decided to call the doctor, who wanted to see me immediately. I drove myself to the doctor, and lo and behold, I was running a fever for the first time in 21 years! (I don't ever get fevers. Like, seriously. I've had sinus infections, ear infections, colds, bronchitis, the flu, and all those other things you're supposed to get a fever with, and I NEVER get one. The last time I ran a fever, I was 2 and had walking pneumonia.)

Yeah, apparently I'm allergic to one of the vaccine components...

On a brighter note, while my body is being difficult, I'm actually getting kind of excited for law school, which is beyond insane (and which I'll insist was never the case when finals week rolls around), but... I like justice. I'm actually trying my hand at the transfer writing competition, which for those of you unfamiliar with law, isn't really what you'd think: it's basically how you get on to law review/a law journal, something which employers generally like to see and which gives you the opportunity to potentially publish a piece of your legal writing. I'm not really sure I'll finish the competition, because I'm nervous about how my legal writing will come across when I haven't done any of it in a year, but either way, going through the sources has been a nice re-introduction to law school. I was petrified I'd have forgotten everything during the year off I had, but thankfully, that isn't the case.

Everything has also improved as far as my relationship goes, which is a relief. We still have our issues to work on (who doesn't?), but I think we've managed to find the common ground that we needed. We'll see how things go, but they're looking up from here.

Standing on the Edge

One thing I absolutely loathe about being in my 20s is how frequently I feel like I'm standing at the edge of a cliff, looking down, and wondering what the heck is going to happen next. All of my expectations have gone out the window - I have no idea if I could fall off the metaphorical cliff, if I could be pushed off of it, if I should retreat to whatever's behind about me, or if I should jump to whatever is to be found below me. It's exhausting.

All to frequently, I feel like I'm having the day/week/month/year from hell. Sometimes, it's so bad that I feel like Earth must be hell, only people are too caught up in themselves to realize it. Of course, when I realize I'm thinking this, I tend to think about how screwed up that thought must be, and what a drama-llama I must be for having it. Then I wonder if it's just my depression talking.

I was twelve when I was formally diagnosed with depression, and looking back, it wasn't a surprise. Yes, I was young. But by that time, I had also been exposed to the deaths of several loved ones, the deterioration of my parents' marriage, and physical, verbal, and emotional abuse. On top of puberty and all the crazy crap it does to your hormones, mental illness runs rampant in one side of my family.

Needless to say, I often wonder - and worry (yes, my anxiety diagnosis went hand in hand with my depression diagnosis) - if things are really as horrible as they feel. It's a product both of my depression and anxiety and the way people close to me have treated me over the years, always quick to tell me that whatever I was feeling was wrong and pathetic and weird and screwed-up. It made me become exceedingly careful about revealing my feelings or allowing myself to even feel them, for fear that I would be judged harshly for it.

At the moment, I feel like I have a lot going on.

• I'm in the middle of transferring law schools, something I really didn't want to do. Unfortunately, I didn't really have much of a choice after I lost my scholarship. I'll have a longer commute, a more hectic schedule, a very new/different campus environment, a number of new traffic laws to remember, a new group of people to get used to, and new challenges related to my mobility impairments to deal with. I'm hoping it will be a better environment for me, but I still haven't been able to let go of the resentment I have towards my old school for making this change necessary. I was comfortable there, and despite the constant stream of bad luck I got hit with during my first year (shingles, cellulitis, an allergic reaction, numerous joint injuries, a severe concussion, getting rear-ended, and the major health scare of a loved one), I still managed a GPA over a 3.2.
• My hypermobility is worsening, probably due to the lack of exercise I can do without dislocating something/subluxing something/ending up in a shit-ton of pain. In the past six months, both my shoulders and my knees have started dislocating, mostly notably when I'm trying to get to sleep.
• I've become estranged from two close family members. Even though one was extremely abusive during my childhood, it still hurts.
• I don't know where my relationship stands. There's an issue my SO (?) has had since pretty much the beginning of our relationship. At first, I was understanding, and it wasn't a big deal. It did, however, present issues for the long-term future of our relationship if it remained the way it was. I encouraged him to seek the help necessary to become psychologically healthier in that respect, doing whatever I could to make him realize the gravity of the problem while trying not to push too hard and respecting the fact that these things take time. Nearly two years later, even after seeking help, the problem is not better but exponentially worse, and it makes me feel horrible. I can't help resenting him for putting me through this and not doing the necessary work to get through it. I love this guy - I want to marry him someday, for fuck's sake, but I've gotten to the point where I lash out at him in desperation to make him see how much he's hurting me. He insists he loves me and that he's working on things, but I can't take it anymore. How long am I supposed to wait for things to get better?

Above all, my relationship is what has me the most stressed and upset lately. That's what has me on the edge of the cliff right now. We're not talking, and everything feels so hopeless. I love this guy and want to be with him and be happy more than anything in the world, but he doesn't seem capable of meeting me halfway... or even realizing that he isn't. Whenever we try to talk about it, I feel like he's so insensitive and/or completely out-of-touch with the reality of how this makes me feel; he de-values my pain. First, he seems to understand, but reacts by beating himself up about it and getting down on himself. Then, he does a one-eighty and suggests that I'm taking out my stress from other things on him, and that he's the one who deserves an apology.

It makes me infuriated and extremely depressed all at once. I've had eleven years to get used to my depression and anxiety and how it can cause me to react, and I have become almost hyper-aware of the things I'm feeling or not letting myself feel at every moment. I DO NOT let myself take my stress and unhappiness about something on a person unrelated to it under any circumstances. Doing so is one of my worst fears. If I feel like I'm going to, I tell the person that I can't talk at the moment, need to be left alone, etc. and that I need to decompress and calm down; it isn't personal, I just don't want them to be the victim of misplaced anger/agression/whatever.

I don't know what is going to happen, and part of me wishes I could freeze time right in this moment, so that I'd never have to deal with any of those questions standing on the edge gives you.

Do you ever feel like this?